


I'd sit alone and watch your light

by Alex_Dax



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Autism Spectrum, Crowley uses they pronouns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel is a bit of a dick, Gen, Hugging, Protective Crowley, Winghugs, but hinted at, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 08:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Dax/pseuds/Alex_Dax
Summary: Crowley loves it when their angel is happy.They don't love it when he comes back from Heaven deflated with quiet hands.





	I'd sit alone and watch your light

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm unlearning decades of behaviour I was 'supposed' to show and I'm projecting heavily on these two in this fic. If you feel any of my language is not OK, please correct me (gently!) as accepting things about myself -and- writing about it is very new to me. 
> 
> In this house we project our feelings and struggles on our faves and come out stronger. Have a lovely day you all!
> 
> Title from Queen - Radio Gaga

Crowley loves it when Aziraphale gets into telling a story. His entire being seems to come alive when he talks about his latest book conquest or this new restaurant he has tried (“The cakes, Crowley, absolutely scrumptious!”) His hands especially have a life of their own, fluttering at his sides at first then going into full on flapping as the angel comes to the most exciting point in his story. He just looks so blasted happy.

Crowley loves it when they are together, just sitting and basking in each other’s company. Usually, the angel will be reading a book and Crowley will do a good performance of messing about on their phone when they’re really looking at Aziraphale. Aziraphale will get so caught up in his book, he never notices the demon looking. Crowley spends many a happy hour looking because Aziraphale is just so wonderfully expressive. He rocks back and forth during what Crowley knows are tense scenes. He rubs the fingers of the hand not holding the book over the worn and soft fabric of his waistcoat. He whispers and repeats words important to the story. Crowley basks in the warmth and familiarity of it all.

Crowley loves it when Aziraphale picks some music while they drink. They’d never managed to convince the angel to invest in a top of the line surround system, but the old record player fit him somehow. Aziraphale loses himself in the music, eyes closed, head thrown back and a smile playing on that beloved face. He is in his own world, but that’s fine, Crowley is there and ready to catch him once he comes down from it.

Crowley _loves_ it. They love that Aziraphale feels comfortable to be himself. They love seeing him light up and enjoy himself. They go out of their way to find rare copies of books or the latest invention in food just to see the angel flap his hands and bounce on the balls of his feet. (Of course, they won’t admit to being _nice_. They’re just ensuring the angel is comfortable after the Armawasn’t.)

They don’t love it when their angel returns from Heaven looking far smaller than when he went up. Occasionally, rarely, they still call on him. He comes back small and quiet every time and Crowley feels a piece of them crumbling every single time. They know cold Heaven can be. They remember all too well harsh words thrown at Not-Aziraphale by Gabriel. Sure, Hell had rarely treated them better, but not even Beelzebub themself had matched the utter spite coming from Gabriel. _Shut up and die already. _

After 6000 years of being together, they figured out a routine for when Aziraphale is like this. The base rules are simple. Don’t make him talk. Don’t touch him without checking if it’s OK. Don’t speak. They make sure to just be there. Aziraphale will turn to them ever so slightly if he wants contact. Crowley knows exactly what to do. They wrap their angel in a tight embrace, crushing him against their chest. Their wings wrap around their dearest friend as well, their arms tightening to provide the pressure they know Aziraphale needs. They are not humans, they have no true need to breathe, but Crowley times their breaths to be even paced never the less. Aziraphale always breathes with them, his ear pressed firmly against Crowley’s heart to hear the equally unneeded but soothing heartbeat.

All is quiet. They breathe as one.

When they do talk, days later, Crowley has to force themself not to hiss the nasty words they wish to call Gabriel. It upsets Aziraphale, and so they don’t. Aziraphale looks down and fidgets with the chain of his watch as he speaks, in that same soft voice still. “Gabriel feels…” Oh yes, Gabriel feels. Gabriel feels Aziraphale is an abomination, he’d made that clear so many times. As always, summons to Heaven disguised as friendly requests. The angels never waste that time to criticize Aziraphale. Crowley curses angelic loyalty in their mind. They hate thinking about Aziraphale up there alone, trying not to fidget as harsh words rain down on him.

Aziraphale, of course, has known them for all those millennia too and can tell the rather demonic things his partner is thinking. “It’s over and done with, Crowley, dear.” He says, voice a little more forceful than it was. Crowley does hiss, then. “It isssn’t, angel,” they speak, “they hurt you. They speak badly of you just because they can’t stand seeing you happy and independent.” Now, they’re gaining steam. “What is it to them, anyway? Why shouldn’t you be expressing your delight? I thought that was what angels did, spreading delight and happiness.” They should have stopped talking there, but as it had done over the ages, Crowley’s mouth was occasionally [1] faster than their brain. “Plus, I love seeing you lost in happiness. ‘S like you light up the entire room.”

Crowley closes their mouth with an audible click after that. They feel that cursed human vessel respond by blushing. Blushing!

Aziraphale stares at them, and for a handful of seconds they’re afraid they have crossed some sort of line. But then the sun breaks through as Aziraphale smiles widely. He clasps his hands, beaming at the demon. “Do you really feel that way, Crowley?” he says, his voice alone melting away all the shame that was eating at Crowley. “Course I do, angel. Can’t hang around for 6000 years and not grow fond, yeah?” Aziraphale beams even more at that, knowing that in Crowley-speech, this is high praise indeed.

Crowley loves it when Aziraphale wiggles in happiness, his hands animated and no longer quiet. They love it when the angel truly beams, rocking on the soles of his feet.

It feels like home.

\--------

1) Crowley's mouth did, in fact, work quicker than their brain quite often, depending on who one would ask

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, come chat at my Tumblr -> mxsithy.tumblr.com (or look at me going feral in the tags of cool stuff I reblog?)


End file.
